


After the Count

by The Big Roman (Hammocker)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Jason Never Becomes Robin, Jason has a crush, M/M, Roman Boxes For a Living, Roman Never Becomes Black Mask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/The%20Big%20Roman
Summary: Jason couldn't help but be fascinated by Roman Sionis after seeing him in the ring. Confident, powerful, experienced, larger than life, Jason just had to see more of this man.





	After the Count

Adrenaline. It permeated the small arena, between the people standing around the ring, but even more so between the two within it.

It paid to be small sometimes. Easier to run with stolen goods, and even easier to slip through rowdy spectators to get to the edge of the ring. There, Jason was just tall enough to witness the action head-on.

He’d come to see for himself what it was like, Gotham’s prize fighting scene. It had occurred to him not long before that boxing might be a way for him to get by. Maybe he’d even pickpocket a little cash while people were tipsy and focused on the match, but, the moment he saw what was happening in the ring, Jason had grown distracted from any personal thoughts.

Sionis vs. O'Hara. At least, that’s what Jason thought their names were, eavesdropping on the people around him and cuing in on who was who. Sionis had been looking for openings the whole match, distinctly aware of his opponent’s defensive strategy. He ducked, he weaved, he faked O'Hara out once or twice and got a few good hooks in. Jason had watched the man, near unblinking for what must have been at least forty five minutes.

It was unbelievable how much punishment both of them could take, how huge they both were, or at least, seemed to be, exchanging blows without so much as a shirt for protection. Some time in the fifth round, O'Hara caught Sionis out and gave him a crushing hit to the nose, ending the round. Sionis was bleeding all over his face, covered in sweat, and clearly in pain, but he didn’t fall. If anything, it only seemed to piss him off. The second the sixth round started, Sionis was wailing on his opponent, even with his nose crooked and clearly broken.

Jason couldn’t look away.

It was around the ninth round that finally, O'Hara faltered. One unexpected left hook to the jaw and his massive bulk came toppling down. He didn’t so much as twitch in an effort to get up. One. Two. Three. And then he was done, the referee calling Sionis as the winner.

Jason didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more amazing than Roman Sionis on a victory lap. It never lasted long, notably so, but it was glorious. Sionis lifted one gloved fist in the air, still covered in a sheen of sweat and any scrapes or bruises he’d sustained, and held it for a moment or two. He said nothing all the while, his victory speaking well enough, and then ducked out to make his exit.

As people cleared out, Jason stayed where he was for a long while, staring after Sionis. His heart was pounding, and he knew that his face was flushed. Maybe it could have been the stuffy heat of the arena, but Jason knew better.

He had to see more of this man.

*****

Jason lifted a tiny, battery-operated radio from a convenience store about a week following the boxing match. He tuned it to 109 FM, a local sports station that broadcasted play-by-plays of pro boxing. Even if he couldn’t always afford the ten buck entry fee for the matches, he wanted to keep up somehow.

He kept it under the his old mattress of a bed most of the time, only taking it out when he was anticipating a match.

It was supposed to be a money-saving measure, but that ended up being futile. Every time he heard that a Sionis match was coming up, Jason marked down the date and time on his calendar from some past year, and it was about all he thought about until the day finally came.

When it did, more often than not, Jason hurried from his abandoned warehouse down to the venue of the week. He coughed up the entry fee, money that he might have used to get himself a meal, and drank in every minute of the fight.

The hunger pains were worth it now and again. With every fight, Jason only seemed to want to see more of Roman, more of his determination and persistence, more of his unfettered glare and offensive prowess.

 _And his handsome face_ , some part of Jason reminded him every time. He looked up to Roman, wanted to have his kind of confidence and attitude, but there was something about seeing Roman, bruised and bloodied, dark hair soaking with sweat, and still giving it his all. It was violent and brutal, and even though Jason wasn’t doing any fighting, it got his heart racing.

The victories were the best. Sionis always had an injury or several, but a win invigorated him. His victory lap was simple and relatively subtle, but the energy was clear as Sionis stayed in the ring to drink in his applause. He always seemed to stay for a long while, but still managed to make his exit far too soon. Jason absorbed the sense of overcoming every time.

Even with Sionis’ far less common losses, though, Jason found himself just as invested in Roman. It made Jason’s heart lurch, seeing Sionis so beaten up that he could hardly stand. He wanted to follow Sionis as he hobbled away, help him somehow, even if Jason knew that he couldn’t.

Even then, that want planted a seed in Jason. At the very least, he wanted to speak to this man, to tell him how much he inspired Jason. Maybe it was silly and naive, but that was no deterrent. Jason had the time and the will, and, somehow, he was going to make it happen.

*****

Jason stood outside of a deli in the south end of Gotham, taking deep, forcefully controlled breaths. He could do this.

It had been months since he’d seen the Sionis v. O'Hara match. In that time, he’d done some research, which is what had led him to this deli. A little birdy in the boxing arena had tipped him off that Sionis liked to hang out here after matches, so Jason had done a few stake-outs. Sure enough, almost every day, right around the early evening, Sionis showed up, walked into the deli, and spent an hour or so inside. When Jason peeked in the window, as unassuming as he could manage, he found Sionis sitting in the miniscule dining area. Often he was reading a book, or a newspaper, but sometimes he was only eating some kind of cured meat at a casual pace. No matter what, though, he always sat at the same two-seat table, and no one ever sat with him, even on busy days. 

It was the perfect window for Jason. All he needed was the courage to take it.

So, he stood outside, doing all he could to psych himself up. It was a reasonably busy day, not so many people that Jason wouldn’t be able to maneuver, and just enough that he figured the staff wouldn’t notice that he’d only come in to talk with Sionis.

Alright. He could do this. Jason waited for a patron to open the door, and slipped in just behind him. He spotted Sionis from there, and, while he wasn’t shirtless as he so often was in the ring, his simple white t-shirt made for a good outline of his form. Jason felt a sweat break out on his forehead.

Jason kept behind the human wall at the front counter for as long as he could before breaking off and making a beeline for Sionis. As he came closer and closer, though, Jason was rapidly realizing that he hadn’t planned out what he was going to say. Not at all. He knew that he wanted to say something about how much he admired Sionis, but how?

Even as he stood just over the table where Sionis sat, he was still mired in uncertainty. Sionis didn’t notice him right away, his interest occupied by a paperback copy of _Amerika_. Kafka. Huh.

After a long stretch, Sionis finally took notice of him, lifting his head to cock his brow at Jason. Okay, now or never, Jason had to say something. He opened his mouth, but only a singular sound came out.

“Uh...”

Sionis stared at him, his expression ever-more exasperated, if not a little disgusted.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

Jason’s mouth remained ajar, but he was even more stuck than before. Sionis had talked to him. Him, Jason Todd, some street kid. And, not long after, he did it again.

“You want to sit, or are you gonna catch flies with that mug?”

Was that an invitation? Jason figured that it must be an invitation. He was so hurried as he took the seat across from Sionis that he feared he might fall out of it. Even as he sat, though he was at a loss for words. Maybe this was why people said to never meet your heroes. A long pause passed between them as Sionis kept a hard eye on him.

“Hi,” Jason decided on finally. “I- uh. I saw you in the ring a while back. You were pretty great.”

Sionis’ expression went from one of exasperation to guarded interest.

“That so?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Jason stammered, thoughts suddenly flowing to the front of his mind. “You were fighting O’Hara. Got your nose broken, and didn’t stop swinging. I’ve been to a bunch of your matches since. Listen to the rest on the radio.”

Sionis took a long pause at that, blinking at Jason with intrigue. “That was a while back. Still feel that in my face sometimes.”

“Yeah, God, he really-”

At that moment, a man, similar to Roman in complexion, but far smaller, wearing a stained white coat stalked up to the two of them, fixing Jason with a glare.

“Are you gonna buy something, or are you just here to bother my customers?” he demanded.

For the second time, Jason was at a loss. He shrunk away, half-moving to stand and run. He was used to doing as much.

Then, to Jason’s shock, Sionis interjected.

“Get the kid a pastrami sandwich,” he said, raising one hand to signal Jason to stay put. “On me.”

The man gave Sionis a questioning glance, but didn’t say anything more. He only shot Jason a dirty look as he turned and left the two of them be.

“Thanks,” Jason said after a moment.

“You look like you could use it,” Sionis commented. “You must be a helluva a fan if you braved Isaia’s wrath to get to me.”

“Yes!” Jason exclaimed, hoping that he wasn’t too loud. “First time I saw you, I just had to meet you, somehow. The way you move in the ring, it’s amazing, I couldn’t believe how fast someone so big and powerful could be, and how fast you make decisions...”

Jason stopped himself, a flush coming over his face

“I just- I wish I could fight like you.”

Sionis chuckled and shook his head.

“Ah, give yourself a year or two. You fill out some more, you could fight. Probably a class or two below me, but you could.”

Jason’s heart sank. He probably looked younger than he was to Roman, not nearly on the eve of his eighteenth birthday as he was. It wasn’t easy to fill out and get as big as Sionis was when Jason was scrapping and stealing just to get a little to eat every day.

It was then that a heavily wrapped package was plunked in front of Jason, the man from earlier, Isaia, immediately turning about and heading back behind the counter.

“That’ll help you out,” Sionis said.

Not wanting to be rude, Jason unwrapped his sandwich, even as he kept chattering to Sionis.

“I couldn’t believe how badly you beat Owens just by going in left-handed.”

“A lot of people don’t see southpaw coming,” Sionis said with a shrug. “Had to train myself to use the left, but it’s a useful option.”

“No kidding, the guy was down in four rounds, and he barely got a hit in.”

“I’ve won against better opponents. But it was a nice payday.”

The smell of cured meat hit Jason then, and his mouth watered at the sight of the sandwich. It was packed to the brim with meat, to the point that Jason wasn’t sure if it would all fit in his mouth. His gaze darted from Sionis to the sandwich and back for a moment before finally, Jason picked up the sandwich and tore off as big a bite as he could manage. The strong salty-savory flavor of it burst across his tongue, and Jason did all he could to chew before swallowing.

“Slow down, kid,” Sionis warned. “It’s still gonna be there a minute from now.”

Jason flushed, only then realizing how desperate he must have looked. Sionis wasn’t going to want to deal with some starving street kid. So, Jason made a concerted effort to chew slowly, even as the meat’s juice begged him to swallow and take another bite. He could show restraint.

“You got a name?” Sionis asked in the middle of his forcibly staggered chewing.

That was when Jason swallowed, forcing everything in his mouth down his throat as quickly as possible.

“Jason. Todd,” he stammered. “I’m Jason.”

“Roman Sionis,” Sionis introduced himself in turn, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile.

“I knew that,” Jason chirped with an uncertain laugh. “It’s really nice to finally talk to you, Mr. Sionis.”

“Just call me Roman.”

Jason swallowed around the pastrami flavor still in his mouth and throat. He was on first name basis with Sio- Roman? Already?

“Roman,” he echoed, like some lovestruck teenager. “Thank you.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Uh.” Jason immediately realized that he there wasn’t really a particularly good reason to be thankful. “Well. I guess I didn’t think that you’d be this nice to me.”

“Nice?” Roman chuckled. “That’s a new one.”

“Really?”

“I box for money. It’s not something that’s conducive to being ‘nice’.”

“Well, you seem nice to me.”

“And so do you.” Roman gave a short laugh. “It’s not every day someone stalks you to your favorite joint just to talk to you.”

Jason swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt in his gut. “I just- I wasn’t sure what else to do. Sorry.”

Something in Roman’s eyes softened then, and he gave Jason an easy smile. “Don’t be. You’re alright, kid.”

Jason frowned, not sure how Roman came to that conclusion, nor if he believed it himself. By all rights, he shouldn’t have been in this deli, sitting with Roman, eating a sandwich.

Of course, that was when Roman moved to stand up, taking his book with him.

“Afraid I need to be going. I’ve enjoyed meeting you. ”

Jason’s heart sank. Roman had just been paying him lip service, and, really, Jason shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was all Jason could do not to make his disappointment obvious on his face. That is, until Roman dropped a bombshell.

“You should stop by again sometime,” he said, just as casually as his prior statements.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. Roman wasn’t serious, was he? But he’d said it. He’d invited Jason to come back and see him again and Jason had to be the luckiest idiot in the world, even as Roman was leaving.

“Oh, and Jason?” Roman said, turning about once more to look at him.

Jason looked at him with bated breath, completely ready to hang on his ever word.

“Don’t follow me.” Roman instructed. “One shadow is enough.”

With that, Roman kept on his way and was out the door within a minute, leaving Jason to sit where he was in utter disbelief. He found it hard to believe that the entire encounter hadn’t just been a dream, but he knew it couldn’t be, not with the pleasant partial fullness in his stomach. He dreamed of eating sometimes, but that only led to a sense of dissatisfaction.

Jason glanced around the deli, for the first time taking it in as it was. It seemed smaller without Roman there for him to focus in on. And he was only now seeing the glare that the man from earlier was still shooting his way.

Jason grabbed up what was left of his sandwich, wrapped it back up in paper, and scooted out the door. He was pretty sure Isaia was just a second away from shooing him out with a broom like the street dog he was.

For once, the thought didn’t bother him.


End file.
